


The Brotherhood and the Creed

by Shadow_Chaser



Series: Letters Home [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed, Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate History, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ben sizes Connor up while Connor sizes Ben up, Ben's past as an Assassin trainee, Elaboration on conversation from Sequence 8 Mission 1, Gen, Mashing three sources together - AC3 - TURN - History, Mentions of AC Rogue - Shay's actions against the Brotherhood, Post-Episode s02e05 Sealed Fate, Pre-Episode s02e06 Houses Divided
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-20 23:46:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4806755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow_Chaser/pseuds/Shadow_Chaser
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor is curious as to why Ben would not join the Assassin Brotherhood having been born into it like his father.  On their journey to York City (New York), he learns about the fate of the Brotherhood before he sought out Achilles Davenport.  A further elaboration on the backstory of Benjamin Tallmadge, Jr. mixing it with his backstory established in "TURN: Washington's Spies."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Brotherhood and the Creed

Connecticut was rife with both Patriots and Loyalists, and more often than not, Ben found himself looking around with more caution than he would have done on his previous journey to York City. His trips there were few and far in between and he had hoped that Abe had sent confirmation of his successful recruitment of a spy within the city. But that was not the case with Anna's message to him about Abraham's incarceration just weeks ago. He had wanted to hit something for a long time after finding out about his friend's recklessness in pretending to be a double agent.

Washington had moved to set winter camp at Valley Forge, leaving behind a small scattering of garrisons across Connecticut, but even then Ben did not want to chance running into any patrols of sorts. His was a secretive mission, and even his General did not know the full extent of what he was doing – allowing him to act in his capacity as Head of Intelligence. The only excuse he had given his General was the retrieval of Sackett's papers, but it had also been a chance for Ben to get away from Washington and cool his own head.

He knew that Sackett's death had shocked them both, and Ben had been around Washington long enough to know that he would be in a disagreeable mood for a while. He had also left because he could not bear the shame of his failure at figuring out which man had been the traitor and because of his own harsh words to his General. _“If you had let me do my job!”_ he had yelled at Washington. He knew he was going to have to take a form of punishment for yelling at the Commander-in-Chief, but also for the hurt he had seen appear on the General's face.

Ben had never wanted to hurt the man he thought of as a hero and his idol, but sometimes thought that the General was blinded by his own knowledge of all threats around him, too confident that he could deflect any attempt on his life or whittle away at his ability to command the Continental Army. He was not blind to what Sackett had been teaching him, had been encouraging him to use. He was not blind to how Washington valued his messages and information – even though those praises were very rarely spoken – and he knew that his General relied upon him. That had warmed him, that he could be an effective officer under his command as well as a confidante of sorts. He was also not blind to the gruff affection he knew his General showed him from time to time, and even welcomed it, especially when his own father had been stuck in Setauket and now in Connecticut.

But some times, like a frustrated son who did not know how to deal with a stubborn father, it was hard; like now. He knew Caleb would hold the fort and watch over Washington in his stead until he got back. They had discovered Thevenau's body with the King's seal missing and so Ben had recalled Caleb and his Dragoons back from their attempt to thwart Robert Rogers. Caleb was taking a well-deserved rest, but for now, Ben contented himself on this solo mission he undertook. Time away would heal the fresh wounds that had been inflicted.

He had given a vague answer to both Caleb and General Washington about his mission because of his hesitation in potentially open up another avenue of intelligence besides Abe and Anna. Connor and whatever was left of the Assassin Brotherhood was something he was cautiously still trying to feel out. He had spent the last few months since he had met Connor at the Davenport Homestead, in and around the Boston area observing and asking his contacts about Connor's actions there. He had then gone to where his father now lived Wethersfield, Connecticut. Ben had served as the superintendent of the high school in Wethersfield until he had taken up the Patriot cause and had his father board there under the safe watch of his former colleagues.

He knew his father was a steadfast Patriot, but when he had talked to him, he had been reminded that the Assassin Brotherhood did not readily take sides in any conflict. They had their own goals, their own creed they followed. His father had told him that the Brotherhood would use the Patriots and even the British to further their own means to an end, but the likelihood was also the same for the Brotherhood's apparent mortal enemies, the Templars.

That was why he was vague about his currently mission – the fact that the Brotherhood served their own goals meant that any information he transmitted to Connor and Achilles could in turn find their way to the British. The naivety that he had in becoming Head of Intelligence for Washington had been ripped out of him by Sackett's death and cauterized in blunt fashion. All sources of intelligence needed to be vetted and sourced. Abe's latest foolish venture made him question his friend's sanity, but he vowed to at least trust his childhood friend's information. He had not been let down by him – not yet at least. He hoped that Caleb would have come up with something clever in retrieving Abe from prison before he had left to meet Connor in York City, but there was no such luck.

He would have asked Connor himself to help rescue Abe from Sugar Hill Prison, but he had only met the Assassin once and every single one of his instincts screamed caution when dealing with Connor. There was also the matter of the letter found on Pitcarin's body that spoke of a plot against Washington. As much as it pained Ben, he knew that his priority was to his General and the plot needed to be dealt with first before he could figure out how to rescue Abe. It also did not help that York City was the heart of enemy territory that Washington had been eyeing for a while now.

Ben knew that he could only skirt the edges of the city, his face a little too well known to the British, but he would at least point Connor in the right direction to take out whomever he knew was the perceived threat to Washington's life. He never would have expected Thomas Hickey of all people, but then again, the man was close to General Lee. It was also why he had Caleb recalled quickly, to watch and eavesdrop on any information Lee might slip if and when Hickey's attempt failed.

“You know these roads well,” Connor sudden comment was quiet; his enunciation precise and without even the barest hint of an accent that Ben could hear.

“I was schooled here and lived in Wethersfield for a few years before joining the Patriot cause,” he replied. He was rather amazed at the lack of an accent in Connor's voice; he would have thought that someone born as a native might have an accent of sorts. But the information he had gleaned from Achilles told him that Connor's tribe was part of the Mohawk Nation, trading constantly with the frontier lands and it explained the lack of accent in Connor's voice. He still had an odd way of speaking, very formal and precise, but Ben supposed it was a quirk of sorts because English was not his first language.

“You did not join the Brotherhood?” out of the corner of his eye, he saw the white-hooded man stare at him, curiosity in his brown eyes.

“My father was an Assassin. Quite good at his job too, as I understand it,” he had felt some pride at Achilles' words back at the Davenport Homestead. While he had been at his father's house in Wethersfield, had asked him about his service to the Brotherhood. His father had a surprised look on his face, but then quickly surmised that he had been to seen Achilles at the Davenport Homestead recently.

Ben was still astounded at how astute his father was, even after all these years. He would have thought that his father's retirement as a Reverend would have dulled his senses, but he supposed that Achilles had been right. His father was quick and observant, one of the Brotherhood's best during his time of service. He was also, an apparent crack shot and one of the Brotherhood's snipers as he had explained the circumstances of why he and the other Patriot-leaning families had been threatened with a hanging in Setauket. His father had said that he had been accused of shooting Judge Woodhull, but while he maintained his denials, he could not outright tell them that if he wanted Woodhull dead, he would be dead without revealing his former Brotherhood ties.

His father had explained in this day and age, the Templars were the dominant force behind the power in the Colonies. Those of the Brotherhood that had survived Shay Cormac's purge, hid in fear, passing their secrets and knowledge to their families in the hope that one day the Brotherhood would be revived. It certainly explained his childhood and training, but also why he had been sent away to boarding school and then told to seek out the secret branch while he had been at Yale. His father had told him what had happened with Shay Cormac and the downfall of the Brotherhood as well as the hindsight and lessons he had learned during his years of service. It had been a night that Ben knew he would never forget for a very long time; one that slowly closed the gulf that had been between him and his father since his childhood.

“I received some of the basic training the initiates would have gotten had I joined the Brotherhood,” Ben started, looking up at the leafy trees they were passing under.

Connecticut's leaves were the best in the mid-fall season, unlike farther north where early fall was the best for viewing. But he could already smell the hint of coming rain and knew that by tomorrow, these same leaves were going to be on the ground instead. He remembered climbing all over the houses, roofs, and trees of Setauket with his older brother Samuel. Caleb, Abe, and even Anna would join them, though Anna always complained because of her petticoats. But she would at least climb on top of barrels and pretend she was with them on the roofs. It was usually Abe who helped her up. He also remembered Selah occasionally joining them, but he was the quiet sort, content to watch them from the ground. He had not thought of climbing as part of his training, but only something that his father – one of the very rare parents in Setakuet – allowed and even encouraged.

Another, was musket training from his father, and even petty thievery – though his father had told him not to tell mother and rarely allowed him to use that skill. His father though, emphasized the importance of looking for anomalies, clues, things that some would not be observant about. He had claimed it was watching out for the 'flock' of church goers, to be aware of the pulse of the community, but it was only hindsight that Ben recognized it as basic Assassin training. His friends had been jealous of the variety of skills he had that they did not when they had been playing games as children. The irony of using all of the skills learned back then now in battle and outside of it, was not lost on him.

“But all of it stopped abruptly when my father sent me away to boarding school,” he continued, noting to his slight amusement that Connor was also watching the road carefully. He supposed that the Assassin's skills and senses were far sharper than his own, but did not mind. Jealousy was unbecoming of a man as he had witnessed so many times. Jealousy also revealed things about a man that were far more interesting than platitudes or base correspondence.

“What happened?”

“I did not know then, but it was around the end of the French and Indian War when the full effects of the purge of the Assassin Brotherhood was beginning to be felt. Achilles had apparently sent out correspondence to members of the Brotherhood telling them to stop their activities, to hide, that the Brotherhood was no more. My father later told me that it was because the last of the leadership of the Colonial Assassins had been slain by one of their own and was now hunting down lesser members.”

“But Achilles survived?”

Ben gave Connor a look and saw the other man blink and furrow his brow. Even his father did not know how or why Achilles had survived that, but only that he resigned from the position of Mentor and apparently took no visitors to the Homestead until now. Ben had his own conclusions; that an agreement had been made between Achilles and the Templar leader, or even perhaps Achilles had bargained for his life while giving the names of others for the Templars to hunt down. But he kept those opinions to himself. He still did not know if he could trust the Brotherhood as a new source of information. The result of this mission would help his decision.

“I was discouraged from asking about the Brotherhood until when I was at Yale, I received a correspondence from my father to seek out a small group of people. I had thought that they were Patriot-leaning or even a part of the clubs I was with, but it turned out to be a small group of Assassins who survived the purge. I was invited to join, but the night of the meeting robbers apparently attacked the meeting place and slew the three men and two women who had gathered there.”

“Templars,” Connor growled darkly behind his hood, his eyes flashing in anger.

Ben only stared at him, “Do you know of any Templar that carries that?”

He gestured with his chin towards the heavily disguised riding gloves that hid Connor's hidden blades. At first glance it looked like ordinary riding gloves, protecting the wrists and forearm from chafing, but Ben had spotted glints of metal here and there and knew that a hidden blade was concealed on each arm. There seemed to be a mechanism of sorts on one of his arms that perhaps flipped the blade out and released it like a butterfly knife of sorts, but he was not too sure.

He knew what a hidden blade looked like after his father had presented him with the old relic the morning after their talk. Ben had declined the apparent gift, saying that he had no intention of joining his father's Brotherhood, content with associating with them on a informational basis. His father had understood and put the blade away. Ben had not denied that such a concealed weapon was inherently useful, especially for close quarters combat, but he had no desire to follow in his father's footsteps.

“No,” Connor shook his head before tilting it a little, looking for a moment rather wolf-like with his sharp predatory gaze, “the one who had betrayed the Brotherhood then?”

“It would seem so,” Ben nodded, “to me, it sent the message that the purge was not completed, the one hunting down the Brotherhood still hunting down its members. It seems that holding the body of a dying man knowing that you had narrowly avoided death yourself could do wonders for your outlook.” He gave Connor a grim smile, “I hope to have children someday and learned that day that I would have to live in two worlds at the same time, constantly watching my back-”

“Achilles could have trained you...” Connor's voice sounded suddenly so small, so youthful and naive that Ben's grim smile turned into one of sadness. He sounded just like him before Sackett's death had erased all notion of romanticism from him. The other man's brow furrowed again in thought before he muttered something in his native language that sounded melancholic, but also sad.

“I chose to live in the one where I knew my enemy,” he finished.

“I...understand,” Connor replied reluctantly, absently fingering one of the threads of beads on his overcoat. Ben realized that the other man was living in the world of the Brotherhood, but also that of his native tribe. He wondered for what did he fight in to believe in the Brotherhood's goals so much.

“But I still contribute as I can,” he said, forcibly brightening his voice and trying to change the subject as they continued on the road.

He hoped his offer of an olive branch told Connor that he was willing to give him intelligence and information in exchange for his help. That even though he was not part of the Brotherhood, it was still something that he cherished. The extension of trust was something he knew had to be given first before it was reciprocated. And if Connor's mission was a success, if the plot against Washington was foiled; then he knew that he could use him as a secondary source of information as well as to ease the pressures on Abe and Anna for information.

“It's why we're here now,” he said and out of the corner of his eye, he saw the wolfish glint of a predator in Connor's eyes. He already knew that the plot against Washington was real, now it was his turn to guide knife that would stop the plot.

 

~END~

 


End file.
